“Did he give you his name?”

“We didn’t get that close.”

“When was that?”

“Some two or three weeks ago.”

“Here?”

“Yes, here. In my office. Can I go now?”

“You don’t need to be afraid of me, boss.”

“I’m not afraid of you. I’ve seen it all before with your type. But I’d rather have a change of scene, if you don’t mind.”

“Have you been locked up?”

The artist chuckled disdainfully.

“La Modelo?”

“Montjuïc. From 1939 to 1943. There’s nothing you can do to me that you haven’t done already.”

Vargas took out his wallet, ready to make a second payment, but the painter refused it. He pulled out the money Vargas had given him and let it fall to the ground. Then he took his easel and paint box and walked away with a limp. Vargas watched him disappear up Paseo de Gracia. He knelt down to pick up the note and headed off in the opposite direction, carrying the picture under his arm.

* * *

Ignacio Sanchís walked over to the boardroom window and observed the policeman talking to the watercolorist on the corner. A couple of minutes later he saw the policeman strolling off toward Plaza de Cataluña, carrying what looked like a picture he had bought from the artist. Sanchís waited until he’d lost sight of Vargas among the crowd. Then he stepped into the corridor and made his way to reception.

“I’ll be out a few minutes, Lorena. If Lorca calls, from the Madrid office, pass him over to Juanjo.”

“Yes, Señor Sanchís.”

Sanchís didn’t wait for the elevator, but walked down the stairs. When he stepped out into the street, he felt a slight breeze grazing his forehead and realized it was covered in sweat. He made his way to the café next to Radio Barcelona on Calle Caspe, and asked for a cortado. While his coffee was being prepared, he walked over to the public telephone at the far end and dialed a number he knew by heart.

“Brians,” replied a voice on the other end of the line.

“A policeman called Vargas has just paid me a visit.”

A long silence.

“Are you calling from the office phone?” asked Brians.

“Of course not,” said Sanchís.

“They’ve also been here this morning. The policeman and a girl. They said they had a Mataix for sale.”

“Do you know who they are?”

“He’s obviously a policeman. I didn’t like her one bit. As soon as they left, I did what you said. I phoned the number you gave me and hung up immediately to signal Morgado to meet at our usual place. I saw him barely an hour ago. I thought he’d already warned you.”

“Something unexpected turned up. Morgado had to go back to the house.”

“What did the policeman ask you?”

“He wanted to know about Morgado. Some nonsense about an accident. They must have followed you. For all I know, they tricked you.”

The lawyer sighed. “Do you think they’ve got the list?”